Joseph Warren Robinson ²²⁹⁸

   Cause of his death was Pneumonia (Gravenhurst Banner, March 4, 1937).

  General Notes:

SOME REMINISCENCES BY ETHEL SUTER (1903-1986)
15 July 1984, by H.J. Suter, Regeneration: The Suter Saga, page 51
Georgena Robinson, Aunt George, was a cook on the Muskoka steamers. She was always well groomed, neat and fashionable. Joe Robinson, Ethel's father, was always a teamster. He had a way with animals, taught dogs fantastic tricks, had a tame seagull, etc. He was also the town teamster. He would go out every Sunday, get liquored up and his horse would bring him home his daughters said. One year Joe and Helena Robinson moved their entire family to Manitoulin Island. The trip across Georgian Bay was very rough (it was autumn) and the children were frightened. On the Island, she remembers Joe working around the house. Helena cooked for the Lumber Camp crew. Ethel could not tie down the approximate year. She was born in 1903, and left home in 1917. She vaguely recalls that she was very small on this trip. It was probably near the start of the century. (ca 1907 or 1908) Joe Robinson resigned as town teamster when he went out West. Ethel E Robinson left school when she was about 14. She left home and went to join her sister Hilda in Toronto because her family were moving somewhere. (One possible guess would be that this was when Joe tried his luck farming out West- .possibly in Hazenmore where his in-laws (T W Myers & Eliza Maharg) farmed. Joseph Robinson was an Orange Lodge member. Helena (Myers) Robinson was a grand Matron of the I.O.D.E. The family attended the Baptist Church, Gravenhurst. The children went to school in a two-room school, located in the north end of town, on the road to Bracebridge. The family residences were: First Street, Gravenhurst. Manitoulin Island, Ontario. Western Canada (Hazenmore, Saskatchewan) Severn Bridge ,Ontario. (Halena ran a boarding for Railway employees here) West Gravenhurst (Old Prettie farm) Lot 28, Conc.7.

JOE'S RACE Harry J. Suter, 16 December 1991
Joe was slight for a 12 year old, more noticeable because he was one of the Robinson boys, all of whom were tall and athletic. It was Saturday. He was out of the house as the waking birds were starting to rustle. Unmindful of cool bare feet, he cut across the dew-soaked common from his mother's house on First Street to Bob Fielding's stable. Mr. Fielding was a contractor with teams engaged in lumbering for one of the dozen shingle mills which were Gravenhurst's life blood. Horses munched hay and clumped restlessly along a narrow passage with straw littered on the rough concrete floor. Dusty log beams threatened one's head where they sagged from the overloaded floor above. Cobweb-laced windows filtered daylight patches which lay scattered on the floor. Joe headed directly for the grey mare Dolly's stall. He declaimed her ancestry in the quiet curse-love endearments the teamsters used. He harkened back to many generations of the horse's illegitimate forbears in a soothing voice of affection, and proffered a lump of sugar on his flattened palm. His skinny arms hugged the mare's neck. Her warm soft nose nuzzled Joe's cheek. From the morning shadows another early riser, a horse lover of many years watched the pair. "Would you like to harness her up Joe?" Tom Myers was the Fielding carpenter and his offer electrified the stripling. Breathless-"Oh yes! Could I Tom?" Their mutual love of the graceful animals had long been recognized. It made Joe haunt this cob-webbed stable from as far back as he could remember: seemed as though he had always been here. The man demonstrated the intricacies of harnessing and the impatient boy fumbled the hames and traces over the wide back. The mare was quiet, even though young Joe had to use a milk bottle box to reach across her. Blithely he skirted the Grey's bucket hooves while buckling collar and bridle. That experience was as sacred as Mother's pie to the lad. It was a milestone in his short life. From that moment there was never a doubt he would be a teamster. He was hooked! As he chucked the horse and swaggered down the passage behind her, Tom Myer's six year old daughter skipped along beside him. Blonde straight hair framed blue eyes in a firm little face. "Make him run, Joe," she squealed, "Make him go fast." Nothing was going to detract him from this first chance to show off his horsemanship. He "gee-d" the great mare and marched proud holding the reins high as she clumped to the water trough. He ignored sparkle-eyed Halena. Nothing daunted, the girl trotted along behind, happy to be witness to such a signal event. It was 1891. Joe had grown to a stubby 5 ft. 6, and was 20 years old. His dedication to the teamster avocation had propelled him to the pinnacle of his dreams during the intervening years. He had progressed from Lumbering to Livery stable driver and was now the Town Teamster for Gravenhurst. A matched pair of light Percherons pricked their ears as he flung open the stable doors this 24th of May morning. A spark of the "Great Calathumpian Procession" holiday excitement was telegraphed to the animals as the young man quietly cajoled them. This day would be indelibly imprinted in their memories. Halena Myers, a lithe and lovely recent graduate of the "Tom-boy" phase was framed in the barn doorway. She wore a long-sleeved blouse and voluminous gathered skirt, well below her knees. Practical hand-me-down hooked boots anchored her. All these trappings could not disguise the lines of a blossoming young lady. A husky new timbre to her voice arrested him.</p><p><p>t"Gonna win the race today, Joe?" "Well, I guess it depends for the most part on Pete and Dolly. I'll do my best though." "Well, my Dad says you're the best. I'll be cheering for you. And this is for luck." With a quick peck on his cheek and a toss of her long blond pigtails, she was gone. "Wow! Has she ever grown fast." He rubbed the warm spot on his cheek. "Some dream boat!" For a moment his thoughts wandered. The parade formed in town and proceeded to Gull Lake Park in mid morning. The town athletes strode in full gear to the music of the town bands. Some of the young ladies walked in the I.O.D.E. group; there was Halena. Spectators were dressed in Sunday best and chattered as they walked along. The town Greys' harness trappings shone like gold. Joe had spent hours polishing them with Brasso. Tossing their blue-ribboned manes the team pranced lightly, fresh painted red and yellow pumper wagon in tow. The pumper tank was polished bright as your mother's stove. Twelve firemen in navy sweaters and white drill pants swaggered behind. The large "O" monogram on each chest was graced with eagle wings. Rubberset helmets rested shiny black on their proud heads. Log burling contests were staged early. Each town's best were cheered as they frantically pirouetted at opposite ends of huge pine logs. The losers splashed down to jeering laughter. The winners stayed dry, nimbly spinning logs to shore and leaping the last meter. Competition was fuelled by inter-town rivalries and implied favours from coquettish parasol twirlers. Rowing was for the brawny. Special three-man row boats made by Greavette boat works tested the physiques of the strongest. The loud cheering exhorted many to give their utmost--a gruelling game at which Joe's brothers excelled. Climbing the greasy pole attracted the teenagers. Any activity related to lumberjacking excited the exuberant Irish mill workers. The hard work was to their liking. After a picnic lunch came Softball and Lacrosse. Charlie Robinson hit three homers. Albert was a standout on defence. When Halena gave Charlie a heroe’s hug, Joe burned. "Why was I born the small one? Why me? I'll show them. I've gotta win. I've just got to!" He had an iron will and a melting temper. The announcement for the Fire Tournament race drew the whole crowd. Joe's excitement electrified the Greys. By the time the harness was cinched they just quivered. They tossed bridles and snorted as he hitched them to the pumper. Their prancing threatened to entangle horses and driver. They were ready! Coming up to the start the drivers goaded and teased their teams until red-rimmed eyes flashed with frenzy. The horses were tightly reined so as not to allow a runaway. Mothers clutched children and the track cleared.
Gravenhurst drew the mid starting position between the Chestnuts from Orillia and the famous Huntsville Blacks. The tension and excitement were fevered; the horses were eager. "They're off!" The crowd roared when the bull horn exploded the words. At the first turn the Blacks were ahead by a neck. The wagons, top heavy with pumper equipment, teetered around the bend, almost colliding. Clods of hard clay slapped Joe's goggles as he leaned in. Control of the team was all but lost as they jack-rabbited, rolling wild eyes. The Greys strained in the back stretch, but gained no ground.Hooves were flailing, harness straining and wagons clattering. The Blacks held their lead. Frantic, cursing, yelling, the teamsters stood and whipped their charges. The horses squealed, the axles groaned, the floor boards leaped. The outer wheels dug dirt, the inners lifted sickeningly as they skidded round the last turn. Heedless of all but the win, Joe screamed and waved his hat as they lurched to the pole, pulling ahead. Joe wept unashamedly, Irish fashion, as they slowed. "Oh, you beautiful fools, you great big beautiful fools!" He sobbed. Sick at his stomach, almost delirious, he laughed as he brought them back to cheers from his friends. Suddenly exhausted, he didn't complain when the boy walked his team to cool them. Halena Myers threw her bare arms around his neck and kissed him in front of all Gravenhurst. Resentment of better-endowed brothers was forgotten in the elation of just winning. Later, when he checked the drenched and trembling Percherons, he found he was still shaking. Rubbing shivering shoulders under the hot blankets soothed team and driver, both. That was the moment he decided he and Halena were engaged.
Halena didn't worry. She had known about it for ten years.

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  Noted events in his life were:

• Association. Possibly Orange Lodge, Gravenhurst, Ontario

• Occupation: Farmer, Teamster logging camps & town of Gravenhurst, Railroad worker Severn Falls, Farmer West Gravenhurst: Gravenhurst, Logging camps in Muskoka & Manitoulin Island, Ontario, Canada.

• ADDR, 1881.

• ADDR, Abt 1917.

• ADDR.

• ADDR.

• ADDR.

• ADDR, 1871.

Joseph married Grace Helena Myers Grand Matron Loyal Orange Benevolent Association, Silver Leaf Lodge no. 507, Gravenhurst, Ontario, daughter of Thomas Watson Myers and Eliza Maharg, on 29 Nov 1894 in Gravenhurst, Ontario, Canada. (Grace Helena Myers Grand Matron Loyal Orange Benevolent Association, Silver Leaf Lodge no. 507, Gravenhurst, Ontario was born on 4 Dec 1877 in Amaranth, Dufferin, Ontario, Canada and died in 1966 in Muskoka Pines Home, Bracebridge, Ontario, Canada.)

  Marriage Notes:

clergy John Burton

NOTE: _UID 5817ac916556f1e6b09e080027c34ada
NOTE: RIN MH:FF1602
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